Part 1 (1/2)

Verses of Feeling and Fancy.

by Wm. M. MacKeracher.

DEDICATED

TO

MY FATHER.

Motive

Worthless, the man who works--he knows not why, Whom naught inspires to his puny plan, Who seeming plays his part instinctively: Soulless, and falsely designated ”man.”

Wicked, who works from wish of worldly gain,-- His soul surrendered to th'accursed l.u.s.t Of pleasure partial, briefly to remain, Of treasure liable to moth and rust.

Foolish and vain is he whose motive--fame, Ruled by desire of honor and renown; And fondly courting Fortune's fickle Dame,-- To-day she smiles, to-morrow she will frown.

But virtuous, n.o.ble, prompted from above, Preluding now the perfect life again, Is he, whose only inspiration, love, Love to his G.o.d and to his fellow-men.

For love is naught but G.o.d's own nature, given, In partial measure, down to man to come; The sole delight of earth, the key to heaven; Of all the virtues, centre, source, and sum.

The Old Year.

The old year is dying, Its last hour is hieing Over the verge; The night winds are plying, And are mournfully sighing Its funeral dirge.

And now, in its even, While its spirit is riven Through the bright zone, Beyond the heaven To whence it was given-- To the unknown.

Its sadness in ending Like a cloud is descending Over my soul, And the thoughts that are pending With the low winds are blending, Helping their dole.

A year of existence Has pa.s.sed to the distance Ne'er to return: To the right was resistance, From duty desistance, Nor would I learn.

But duty neglected And virtue rejected We may amend; Then why be dejected?-- So sorely affected?

Whence does it tend?

Is it that pleasure In liberal measure I have not known?

Ah! rapturous pleasure In memory I treasure, But--it is flown.

Opportunity wasted, Though far we have pa.s.sed it, We may retrieve; But beakers once tasted Of bliss while they lasted Bitterness leave.

A Summer Evening Scene in Chateauguay